


A Little Magic

by Vilchen



Series: My Yoi Spooky Week 2019 fics [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Day 5: wicked magic, Don’t copy to another site, Gen, Mama Katsuki is the casual witch we all deserve, Potions, Witch!Yuuri, YOI Spooky Week 2019, childhood fic, witch!Hiroko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 04:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21229565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vilchen/pseuds/Vilchen
Summary: Katsuki Hiroko is a woman of many talents. She runs an inn, cooks for guests and her whole family, supports her daughter's obsession with boybands and her son's eager participation in anything connected to Minako-sensei, and is always there when they need her.Of course there's a little magic involved.





	A Little Magic

Yuuri’s earliest memories are of his Okaa-san in the kitchen. He remembers tugging on her apron with small, chubby hands to ask her what she’s making, and he remembers that secretive smile she’d give him.

"Something with a little magic in it," she says, and Yuuri returns her smile because he knows that if his Okaa-san says it’s got a little magic in it, then it must be something great.

Yuuri's childhood is a good one. He spends his hours dancing and skating and tagging along with Mari to the konbini, and if he does some extra chores around the onsen he will surely get a treat from highest cupboard as a reward. At school he’s quiet and diligent, but Yuuri is also troubled with horrible nerves and bouts of anxiety at the most inconvenient times.

He is seven years old, clad in tights and hiding behind the stage curtain as the last performance before his wraps up. His palms are sweaty and although he tries to take calm, even breaths like Minako-sensei had instructed him to before, every inhale feels too shallow and his exhales makes his insides twist unpleasantly. He saw Otou-san and Okaa-san sit on the third row—they’ll definitely see how he shakes if he goes on stage.

"Psst!—Yuuri!" Mari hisses from the stage exit and waves him over.

"Mari-nee, I don’t think you’re supposed to be here—"

"Oh, who cares," she says and blows her fringe away from her face. In her pocket is two homemade caramels wrapped in plastic that she presses into the sweaty palm of his hand. "Mom told me to give you these for good luck. Eat them before you go on stage so you don’t loose them."

And then she darts away before anyone can scold her about audience restrictions, leaving Yuuri with his panic and two caramels. They’re from the good batch, he notes and unwraps one. His Okaa-san never lets him eat anything from her good batches unless it’s a special occasion. He pops one in his mouth and chews, pondering how his birthday can be less of a special occasion than a school organized talent show, but finds it doesn’t matter much.

Breathing is suddenly easier, and the sweetness somehow soothes his nausea. His Okaa-san must’ve added a little magic, then, is the only explanation Yuuri can think of. The audience applauds the last performance as they step off stage to join their parents. A teacher waves him to the front and introduces him for the crowd, but Yuuri can’t quite catch what they say. His heart bets calmly in his chest, and although he’s still scared—terrified of falling in front of his parents and the school—there's no panic. The sound technician plays his song, and Yuuri falls into his first position, feeling almost comfortable.

He can get far with just a little magic.

* * *

"Mom, can I help?" Yuuri asks, nine years old and finally tall enough to reach the counter without a stool. His Okaa-san hums thoughtfully and looks him up and down. Yuuri has helped in the kitchen before, but only easy tasks like watching over the melted butter and stirring the pot—but he’s a big boy now, so he wants to help for real like Mari does.

"Alright," she says after a moment, "I guess you’re old enough to learn. Will you chop the cilantro for me, please?"

Yuuri puffs his chest and goes to do as she asked. His Okaa-san instructs him on how to slice the herb into tiny pieces without cutting himself and lets him sprinkle them into the stew.

She puts a lid on it and sets a timer, then turns to Yuuri and shows him a shiny, white pebble, much smoother than anything he’d find outside.

"I need you to do something important for me, alright? Take this into the garden and wrap it in a leaf from the maple tree, will you? Then you have to wish for something nice and bring it back to me. Understand?"

Yuuri eyes the stone warily, but does as his Okaa-san wants. In the garden he brings the leaf covered stone to his lips and tries to think of something nice. A puppy is the first thing that comes to mind, small and energetic and an unconditional friend. He wishes on it.

When Yuuri returns and places the stone gingerly in his Okaa-san’s palm, she smiles.

“This is something of a test,” she says and drops the stone—leaf and all—into the pot

“Did I pass?”

“We’ll see. Go help Mari fold towels until dinner time.” Yuuri doesn’t know what exactly he’s being tested for, but he doesn’t want to fail. Maybe, if he passes, his Okaa-san will teach him how to cook like she does.

That night, with his family gathered around the dinner table and four bowls of steaming, hot stew placed in front of them, Yuuri falls in love with magic.

The first spoonful bursts into colors, sounds and sensations on his tongue, a firework of happiness and laughter and a pinch of salt. A tiny form jumping and yipping at his heels, pushing a wet snout into his palm and panting while its tail thumps steadfastly on the floor, soft pelt beneath his hands and the weight of a leash in between his fingers.

It leaves him speechless, but his Okaa-san smiles and blows gently on her own spoon, looking pleased but unsurprised. His Otou-san and Mari don't react much either, except for some thoughtful chewing and a dry comment from his sister.

"I'm more of a cat person."

Then she aims her spoon at him and raises one eyebrow, going for a mildly threatening look. "If it shits inside, _you _have to pick it up."

And that’s that. Yuuri has somehow made the stew taste like a small furry friend curled up on the foot of his bed, or like the smell of wet dog after a long walk outside in the rain—it’s weird, but in the best possible way, and looking at the kind face of his mother Yuuri knows with absolute certainty that he’s passed her test.

* * *

Cooking is fun.

Yuuri spends his teenage years juggling dancing, Vicchan, skating and schoolwork—and somehow does it decently—but when the muscles in his legs are so worn out he doesn’t think he can make it up the stairs, or he's so tired of drilling himself in math and science that the numbers and letters swim before his eyes; the answer is always cooking.

It doesn’t have to be magical, the smell of newly baked bread and the ceaseless motion of stirring a pot is enough to soothe him all on its own. He learns how to make the base of an anxiety relieving potion and hides the vial in the back of his nightstand. His Okaa-san warns him that the effects will fade he he takes it too often, so he saves it for competitions and important tests only.

He bakes pies and scones and daifuku before his last exams, just a couple of weeks before he’s set to move to America and start his training there under Celestino Cialdini. His last night is spent triple checking that Vicchan's treat jars are full off feel-good-biscuits, sleep-well-biscuits, behave-outside-biscuits and who's-a-good-boy-biscuits, as well as obsessively repacking his suitcase and trying to sneak into the kitchen to convert his stress into a tray of mocha raspberry muffins.

If it weren’t for his Okaa-san reaching out and tugging him by the sleeve into the guests' dining hall, he'd have probably spent the whole night pacing. She makes him sit down on the old tatami mats with a cup of her special genmaicha brew and unceremoniously dumps her cooking book into his lap.

"This is yours now," she says, and pats the old cover lovingly. "It has a solution to every problem, old recipes from when my grandmother was just a little girl."

"But Okaa-san—this is _yours_,» he protests and tries to hand it pack, only for her to wave his hands away. The cookbook has been just as much of a constant in the kitchen as his Okaa-san herself, always ready with a potion for runny noses or a trick to make the perfect eggs. Taking it with him would be like stealing a piece of the onsen away forever.

His Okaa-san shakes her head and pushes the book back into his hands. "No, I think you’ll have more use of it than me, Yuuri. You like to experiment and try new things, and I already have the secrets I need to make the best katsudon—" a sparkle appears in her eye, "—what else would I need?"

"Keep the book," she says, smoothing her fingers through his hair as she leaves to serve a customer and Yuuri remains seated on the floor. Her touch lingers for a moment, and then she’s gone. Yuuri clutches the cup of tea in his hands, takes a sip and breathes in deeply. The smell of fried pork, spices and tatami wash over him like a tidal wave, bringing with them memories of chasing Mari in the halls and the feeling of hot steam tickling his nose because his Okaa-san always serves the food piping hot. The exhale is the feeling of the waves trickling between his fingers back into the ocean, taking the memories with them.

Yuuri recognizes the potion. Traditional genmaicha with a sprinkle of roasted almonds stored in the darkest room of the onsen for a full moon. A brew to cure homesickness. He’ll brush up on the recipe once he’s settled in properly in Detroit—surely it’s in the cookbook somewhere.

**Author's Note:**

> Not my favorite; I might expand on it someday. But I do love some Katsuki family feels every now and then... School is killing me atm (and not in the fun, spooky way), but I'm happy I got this out today :)
> 
> Feel free to yell(gently) at me in the comments!


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